Join Me In Death
by Seeking Refuge
Summary: What doesn't kill you, can only make you stronger, right? ... Though neither brother will know it until it's far too late, by the time the boys have caught on, a string of events will have taken place that will change them and those around them, forever.
1. Opening

The morning could have started out like any other. Asking groggily for coffee, rolling over in an attempt to stay in bed a little while longer after staying up too late the night before. Yelling at Sam for coffee again, bitching because the light spraying through the thin curtains was bright enough to wake the dead. But it didn't. Something was different in the air this time.

"Sam?" Dean pulled his head up from his pillow, looking around the shabby motel room. His eyes still heavily hooded as he had yet to fully awake. It was easy to see Sam's bed was empty. The blankets still neatly tucked in under the mattress. Sam hadn't come home in the few hours Dean had finally allowed himself to dose off. He licked the insides of his mouth in an attempt to try and rid himself from the dryness that lay ramped upon it, but it was useless. The thick muscle didn't fair any better.

"Coffee." He groaned to himself as he dropped his face straight down into the softness of the pillow again. Making it hard to hear or make out the grunts he was muttering into the fabric.

Closing his eyes he tried to drift back to sleep. After all, it was only just after seven and Sam did have a tendency to wake him up well before Dean was ready. Without his brother here he could steal a few extra winks. Or so he hoped.

He listened, lying there for a moment as he wrestled himself into a comfortable sleeping position. He could hear the couple next-door start into their early morning "exercise." Either they were newlyweds, or hookers started at the crack of dawn in this town. What made it worse was, this was the third day in a row.

"Aww, come on!" He yelled over to them as he pounded on the conjoining wall with his fist. "Some people are trying to sleep over here." He added. "Some who didn't get as lucky as you last night." He trailed off to himself, as he rolled over with a huff.

He tossed and turned for the next thirty minutes, annoyed that he could not fall back asleep. Finally completely frustrated, Dean threw the blankets back in one swift movement and sat straight up in the motel bed with a groan. Swinging his legs over the side of the squeaky mattress, he stared over at Sam's side of the room, rubbing his face with one hand.

"Dammit." He spat out across the emptiness. His body was still in the mid stages of sleep and it fought back against the movements Dean was trying to force upon his own limbs. His joints and muscles aching with every flex and stretch as he stumbled his way to the bathroom.

----------

Sam awoke roughly in the darkness that incased itself over the closed in back room of the library. If Dean knew where Sam was now he would surely laugh. After all, it seemed to Dean that all Sam ever did was pore over information in one form or another. And now to have him sleeping in the library itself was priceless.

Though, Sam didn't stir do to the time of day. Another Nightmare had caught hold of him and it was all he could do not to scream out loudly in the quietly, deserted building. Holding his fingers to the bridge of his nose, Sam willed himself to breathe normally. Tears on the verge of breaking.

He tried not to think of what he'd just witnessed playing out in the back corners of his brain, but you can only hold things back so far and for so long before they break. Forming a raging, uncontrollable current.

He stood up; slamming his laptop shut and grabbed his jacket from its resting place on the back of the nearest chair.


	2. The Battle Of One

Twenty minutes later Dean dropped his body heavily onto the black leather of the drivers seat, and sighed. It was well after eight o'clock and Sam had yet to show. Very unlike him. The journal was left behind, but wherever Sam was now he had his laptop with him. Not that it was left behind too often. Revving the engine of the Impala, Dean looked back at the door to their motel room and wondered for the last time, where his younger brother might be. But the brunette had more important things to do just then, than worry about Sam.

Pulling the shiny, black, muscle car out onto the Highway, Dean flipped the radio on and let the rock music blare loudly through the speaker system.

----------

It was hard for Sam to not completely lose it as he made his way back to the Super 8. He walked slowly as he headed down the road to the run-down and seedy room they had rented only a few days before, fighting the demons in his head.

The meshing images of his nightmare flashing constantly across his line of vision, made it hard for the lengthy boy to walk a straight line. The appearance of blood and dead bodies raising goose bumps over his muscular forearms. The shapes outlined in separate flashes over took his senses, and Sam couldn't help but bend over and vomit right there on the side of the street.

Not to mention that one was a shorthaired male, who looked an awful lot like the eldest Winchester.

----------

Dean pulled up to the small coffee shop that sat on the main strip of town, and had hopped out of the front seat before the engine of the Impala had even started to cool. If he was going to be awake and function at the same time, he needed coffee and lots of it.

It had become their staple on the road, something to start the day. Whether it be five A.M. for Sam, or after eight for Dean. At least they had that in common. Even if they couldn't get up at the same time.

After ordering two extra strong, large coffees, Dean pressed his back against the door he had entered through and made his way back out into the bright light of the new day. Not even halfway to the car, he looked up to see his brother walking awkwardly in the opposite direction. Obviously headed back to the motel.

"Sam." He yelled across the pavement to the dark mop of hair. It didn't seem to register with his brother that he was being called upon. "Sammy!" Dean yelled louder, until it caught other boy's ear.

Slowly glancing over, Sam stood there for a few minutes, wiped at his eyes with the cuff of his sweater and second-guessed himself about continuing on his trek back to the shit hole they were now sharing. Though, he didn't feel like facing Dean right now. He was still thinking, trying to process what he had just seen, and Dean never made that any easier.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing over there? Waiting for the bus, Miss Mary Sunshine? Get over here." Dean yelled across to the taller of the two, again.

As Dean held out the hot cup of coffee he had not drank from yet, Sam, ever so slowly, made his way to the other side of the street.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You look like you just lost your puppy." Well, Dean was never subtle, but this was a time when it would of came in handy, especially with the look that was now creeping over his brother's face.

"I had another nightmare," Sam said, pausing. "And in this one you ... died." He told his older brother quietly, but point blank, glancing over to see his reaction.

"Oh, well that's never good." Dean replied, opening the driver's door of the Impala and sliding in nonchalantly.

"You don't sound too worried." Sam told him as he did the same, shutting his own door as Dean turned the engine over. It roared to life.

"Well it hasn't happened yet. Has it, Patricia Arquette?"

Sam really hated when Dean called him that, (well, basically he hated when he called him anything _but_ Sam) but now was really not the time to start a petty fight over it. That was not to say, he wouldn't bring it up later to do the same. Plus it was obvious the two loved to fight with one another, physically or not.

"When are you going to start taking me seriously, Dean?" Sam asked his brother as he leaned against his door, turning toward the opposite side of the car a little more. It was not something he did often, but today was different. Today they could both die. For good.

"When you start shooting rainbows out your ass and turn hay into silver." Dean responded.

"I'm not Rumpelstiltskin, Dean. And it's spinning straw it into gold, to be exact." He corrected him.

"Rumplewho? What, huh?" Dean asked looking over. A mask of complete confusion, spreading across his face. Which in reality, wasn't so hard to do.

"Never mind." Sam sighed. Dean was not going to make this easy. That was _overly_ obviously by now. "Just take us back to the motel." He stated, nothing close to a tone of asking.

"Screw the motel, Sam. I'm starving. This beauty is taking me to eat." He told the other boy, rubbing his right hand over the dash as he kept the left clutched to the steering wheel. "If you want out, jump. Stop acting like you have a stick shoved up your ass." He told Sam, giving his brother a nasty look, but the image made him laugh inwardly. "It's not even 9 o'clock, I haven't eaten anything since seven last night, I had to listen to those two fuck bunnies again this morning and I just got my coffee." He fumed, hitting a bump in the road, which splashed hot liquid all over the dirty denim of the crotch of his jeans. "Dammit!" he yelled out.

That at least put a small smile on Sam face.

----------

It wasn't much later when Dean finally putted the car into a diner that didn't look like they might get pubic hair served to them. Even Sam had to admit that by now, his stomach was asking to be fed too.

Walking into the half way, hick-filled diner, Dean took a seat next to the window trying to ignore the fact that he looked like he had just pissed coffee down his pants to everyone that was now staring over at him. He smiled smugly to most of them and they slowly went back to their own business.

Sam slid in the booth across from Dean and looked up politely, as a barrel-chested waitress with too much makeup on her overly winked face, dropped two food-stained menus onto their table and flipped her note pad open.

"What can I get ya'?" She asked them, popping the wad of gum she was chewing, before they even had the chance to pick up the lists she had thrown before them.

Sam saw that Dean was about to say something snide, and interrupted him.

"I'll have some eggs, over easy, toast and whatever fruit you have today." Sam told her, smiling as he finished.

"Fried egg, bagel and day old melon." She stated as she wrote. Nothing remotely close to what Sam had actually asked for. "And you?" She asked Dean, looking him up and down.

"Mabel, is that your name?" He asked giving a very fake grin as he leaned toward her, looking at the tag she wore over her old and sagging breast. It read, "Jackie." "Steak, potatoes, bacon and two fresh cups of coffee." He told her. She only scribble something down on her paper, rolled her eyes and walked away.

"You know she's going to spit in your food, right?" Sam asked Dean, making himself as comfortable in the booth as he possibly could with his long limbs.

"Yeah, and you with your batty eyelashes are really going to make a difference." He bitched back. "It probably comes with every meal in this dumpster dive." He stated, a little too loudly. Some of the patrons turned around to look at him rudely. He raised a hand to wave shortly at them, and as Sam turned to see what his brother was looking at, Dean pointed to the shaggy boys head as the groups of hillbillies finally turned away. Dean dropped his arm back down to the table before Sam had the chance to turn back around and catch him.

"So, what is this bullshit about me dying?" He asked his brother outright with a smirk, as Jackie, (A.K.A, Mabel) returned with the cups of coffee. She glanced over at Dean slightly, raising an eyebrow, but didn't stay long enough to over hear anything else.

"I don't know everything, Dean. I just saw you in my nightmare. At least I think it was you." He questioned himself before continuing on. "Body laid out, bullet to the head, stomach tore ope-"

"OK, Ok. I didn't ask to hear _how_ I died, I just wanted to know what the hell you have running around in your head up there." He said, glimpsing up at Sam's forehead and pointing with one finger, swinging it back and forth. "I'm sorry I asked." He added, taking a sip from his cup.

Just the idea of picturing Dean lain out before him again, made Sam uneasy. But how was he to tell his brother that without being called a pussy?

Since their father had died and Dean had told Sam about the last words John Winchester had spoken, something had changed between them. Something neither had acknowledged to one another. Something that made an odd tension between them, and Dean, ten times bitchier then before.

Sam sighed, He was right in his thinking before. Dean was of no help.

"I can't just sit on this one, Dean." He told him, his irritation rising. "We have to do something. I'm not just going to make myself bait and wait for you to die."

"Who says your right about this?" Dean retorted. "Do you ever just have normal nightmares? You know, feeling like your drowning, falling off a building? Maybe your annoyed brother strangling you in the middle of the night …" He trailed off.

"I'm being serious, Dean."

"So am I."

Sam slammed the cup in his hand down onto the tabletop. It made a louder noise than he intended, but he ignored it and the coffee that splattered out over the rim.

"You don't even care?" Sam asked Dean, his face softening. He looked like he might crack as he slowly looked back up and over at his bullheaded brother. He could feel the tears building up.

"Look, Sammy. This is like, what? The tenth time I've been told I'll die, or been close to doing so? I'm kinda over it. I mean how many times can that fucking yellow-eyed Demon cry wolf?"

"You do know that at the end of that story, bad things happened because the main character didn't listen when he should of, right?" Sam tried to ask without letting his pulled together façade break in front of Dean. It was taking all he had to not let the tears fall.

It wasn't like Sam to just burst out crying like a baby, Dean either. But nothing had been the same since John's death. All emotions seemed to fester on the surface now. Giving a good indication to why the two boys were having a hard time dealing with one another. Not that it had ever been something they had mastered doing.

Dean let his own heavy breath of air out. He could easily see this was something Sam really wanted, minus the fact that he was bitching about it. He couldn't help but slowly give in.

He could only be an ass to Sam for so long before he felt the need to bug him in some other way. Like itching powder in his brother's underwear. Not that that wasn't in and of itself, another form of Dean's jackass side, just the more amusing of the two.

"You're not going to let up on this until I agree to go where ever it is we need to go, are you?"

"No."

"Well then, where the hell _are_ we going?" He asked as their food was set down in front of them and another cup of lukewarm coffee was poured.


	3. Like Fuel To A Fire

It was a long drive from Washington State to California, but nothing they hadn't tackled before.

It eased Sam's mind a bit to know that they would be there in less than a day, but also scared him to think of what might happen once they got there. Life always seemed to be a double-edged sword for the Winchesters.

"We need gas before we go any further." Sam let Dean know, as he pulled into the first station they had seen in over an hour.

"Good, because I need to pee and I've been holding it in for way to long."

"Thanks for sharing." Sam told Dean as he opened the driver's side door and stepped out to release the gas cap. "Just make sure not to sit on any dirty toilet seats."

"Who said anything about sitting?" Dean asked Sam, cocking an eyebrow. "I said I had to pee. Do I look female to you?" He asked as he walked off toward the sign that indicted where the men's bathroom was located.

Jerking the door open, Dean stepped inside. He was disgusted, but not surprised to see that the place was one of the more sickening bathrooms they had found along their travels.

Stepping up in front on the stained and splattered seat less basin, Dean moved his hands in front of his crotch to release the button of his fly, pulling his zipper down in one quick movement.

His voice filled the small room as he let a long and relieved moan escape past his lips. After suppressing his full bladder for over the last two hours, releasing it was like the climax of great sex.

"Oh God, that feels good." He said to himself as he shook his flesh free of the liquid that had just sprung forth and returned it back to its resting place in the crook of his boxers.

----------

Walking down the last aisle of the small convent store, Sam grabbed a bag of chips off the rack and dropped them into the basket he was holding. Turning around, he collided with Dean.

"Damn Dean, you could warn a guy." Sam spat out.

"Now your starting to sound like me." Dean replied, lifting a box of crackers from Sam's collection of snacks and ripping the top open.

"Please tell me you at least washed your hands?" Sam asked in a pleading, but highly annoyed, tone.

"But that would ruin all the fun of you not knowing." Dean told him as he dug into the container and popped a few of the cheese-flavored bites into his mouth.

Dean laughed lightly to himself as he watched the look on his brother's face. Sooner or later he'd have to ease up on poor Sammy, but since Sam was the one that had dragged Dean on this wild goose chase, that time would have to be later. Maybe quite a bit later.

Pulling a six-pack of beer from the cooler and a few other beverages, ones that that wouldn't be illegal to consume while driving, Dean made his way to the counter and dropped all of his choices into its surface.

He waited until Sam did the same and then pulled out a small wad of hundred dollars bills. After handing one over to the cashier for the bags now in front of them and the tank full of gas outside, the boys took the change and loaded the groceries and themselves into the Impala.

"OK, tell me again, where we're going?" Dean asked Sam as he took over the drivers seat and turned the engine over.

"Somewhere near the San Francisco, Bay Area." Sam answered.

"And how do you know this?"

"I saw the Golden Gate Bridge in a flash."

"That big red painted thing?" Dean questioned.

"Yeah, but it's actually called, International Orange."

"Orange? No it's not. Look at all the pictures of it. It's red."

"Dean, do you forget I lived to California for months longer then you have ever stayed put in one place?" He asked the blunt, brunette manning the steering wheel. "It's a trick of the light against the background-" He paused. "OK, I can't believe we're actually fighting over this."

"I can. You always have to be right."

"Me? Me!" Sam laughed, using his finger to point at his own chest while growing slightly annoyed. "You should look in the mirror without playing with your hair once in a while, and you might actually see how full of yourself you are." He stated outright, feeling justified. "Not to mention bullheaded, clueless and rude." He cared on.

"OK, Ok. I get it. You think I'm an idiot." Dean fired back. It was easy to see that Sam's last words had thrown Dean a little over the edge, but could you blame him? "Well, if you hate me _so_ much, why are you here? I mean in the whole time we've been together and after all that we have been through, you wait till now to tell me you think I'm as dumb as a post?"

"A post?" Sam eyed Dean, raising a brow, amused.

"Shut up. It's the only thing I could think of." He told his brother, letting out a heavy sigh. "Dammit Sam, do I really disgust you that much?" He asked, drawing back his harsh line of questioning. Now the tables were turned. Dean was on the verge of breaking while Sam sat opposite.

----------

It was many hours later when the Impala came to a stop just north of the Golden Gate. Sam had pieced together a few more clues using his laptop and his intuition; both had brought them about an hour out of San Francisco to a small town called, San Rafael.

"Are you sure this is right?" Dean asked Sam for the millionth time.

They hadn't really talked much more then to give and receive directions, order dinner and to stop for the occasional pit stop and bathroom break. Needless to say, the tension was so thick it could have been cut with a knife.

"Yes." Sam answered shortly, just as he had all the other times before.

"Well we don't even know this persons name. How the _hell_ are we supposed to find them?"

"It's a, J. Harris." Sam answered quietly. "I saw it on an envelope on a stack of mail in my nightmare."

"What the hell, is it like a camera flash for you? A different picture every time?" Dean asked, but was only slightly serious.

"It was this time." Sam trailed off.

The nightmare had been like throwing a mess of photographs onto the floor and trying to sort through them all while waiting for a bell to ring. Signaling that time had ended. In that moment, Sam tried to gather up as much information as he could, but nothing made any sense unless it could all be strung together.

"Well, I say we grab a motel room and a phonebook for the night." Dean told Sam, even though he was sure he wasn't listening to him anymore. "I'll sleep for a few hours and you can thumb through the white pages." He threw out there to prove his point, glancing over at his taller brother. If Sam _was_ listening, he'd never agree to it.

"Sure, whatever." Sam whispered as he rested his head against the windowpane of the passenger side door, staring out at the darkness of the night, and the even darker outlines of the scenery flying past.

"So, if alien's came down and probed you with their long 'probey thingies,' you'd be OK with that?" Dean inquired, teasing him because he knew he could get away with it this time.

"Uh huh." Sam answered in a bored tone.

"Dammit, Sam. Why do you get to be the one that's pissed? You're the one that called me an idiot." Dean yelled as he hit the breaks. Nearly slamming into the back of an SVU.

"I didn't call you an idiot, Dean. You called yourself that." Sam told him coming too; now that they had almost been in an accident he was paying more attention.

"You started it."

"Yeah, that's mature." Sam sighed. "I'm tried of fighting with you."

"Then stop correcting me Sammy, like I'm too stupid to know anything past Elementary School. Just because you whet to college doesn't make you better than me."

"I didn't say that it did, Dean." He replied, surprised at his brothers comment.

"No, but it seems like you throw it in my face every chance you get." He spat, tears slightly welling up.

"Dean, dude I'm sorry." Sam told him, leaning forward in his seat to get a better look at the older Winchester's face.

"You should be." He stated as he pulled them, and the Impala, into the parking lot of a 'Best Western.' "Go get us a room." He told Sam, turning off the engine and opening his own door. "I have to pee." And with that he stepped out and disappeared into the black of the night.

----------

Two hours later and Dean lay in the furthest bed snoring, while Sam sat and the small table pouring over the white pages of the 'Marin County' phonebook.

Yawning, Sam wrote the last name down in his personal notebook and closed it, pulling its elastic band around its edges.

As the clock on his laptop stated loudly, in a mechanical voice, that it was 2 A.M., Sam closed it quietly and stood up to move over to his own, lumpy motel bed.

He'd give anything right now to sleep on an actual comfortable mattress, one that didn't have you aching or wanting more sleep in the morning. And that fact that he was too tall for most standard beds didn't fair well for him in that department.

"Dean? Dean are you asleep?"

Dean snored loudly in response to Sam's question and rolled over pulling the blankets with his body.

Kicking his shoes off, Sam removed his shirt and tossed it into the seat he had just occupied for well over the last hour. Dropping his jeans around his ankles he stepped out of them, pulling the cold blankets of his bed back. Shivering as he slid under them with only his thin boxers covering him, Sam drew the sheets up around his chin and turned away from Dean to face the window.

Closing his eyes he yawned again and stretched out, only minutes from sleep. Or so he thought.

"Ohh." Dean moaned quietly in his slumber, making Sam's eyes snap open.

"Dean?" Sam whispered to him, trying to gently rouse his brother. "Dean, wake up."

"Oh yeah. Mmm, yeah right there."

"DEAN!"

"What!" Dean sat straight up in his bed, looking around startled. "Dammit Sammy, I was having a good dream." He told him as he realized where he was. Lifting up the blankets to look down at his crotch, he wasn't surprised to see that he was more than half cocked.

"I heard."

"Now what am I supposed to do with this?" Dean asked Sam, pulling his covers back to show what he was left with having been woken in the mid stages of a wet dream. The bulge in his briefs was unmistakable.

"Your problem, not mine." Sam answered as he smiled to himself in the darkness, trying not to laugh. "Night Dean." He chuckled, rolled over and closed his eyes again.

"Thanks, Jackass." Dean said annoyed, turning to face the wall, pulling his covers up and over his head.

"You're welcome. Slut."


	4. Have A Little Faith

Morning broke earlier than expected for the two brothers. Even Sam wasn't ready to wake when the alarm clock blared loudly at 7 A.M.

"Just five more minutes Jess, please." Sam mumbled, shielding his face from the sun. Turning over he came too enough to realize what he had just said, and sighed deeply at the thought. She still plagued his dreams more then he cared to admit.

Sitting up in the bed slowly, Sam dropped his legs off over the side and contemplated about going back to sleep. The only thing that kept him from doing so was the image of Dean's dead body at his feet.

Like a firecracker had gone off inside his body, he was now fully awake.

"Dean, it's time to get up." Sam told him through a yawn. Glancing over at the other bed, he saw that his words had no effect. "Dean, it's time to get up." He stated again, this time throwing a pillow at his brother's head. It worked.

"Hey, what the hell?" Dean whined, picking his face up off the mattress to squint over at Sam.

"We have a lot of leg work to do today." Sam told the sleepy heap in the bed before him, as he walked his way to the bathroom. "And because you didn't get out of bed first, you get the cold shower."

"I always get the cold shower." Dean told Sam, speaking into the sheet and muffling his words.

"And for good reason." He retorted, shutting the door to end their conversation. After what had happened to Dean the night before, that line was even funnier to Sam.

Stepping away from the door, Sam bent into the large walk-in shower and adjusted the knobs until he thought the water was a hot, but comfortable temperature.

Stripping off his boxers, he stood there naked before the bathroom sink and stared into the mirror. Now that the day had started and they were here, there was no going back. And even though Sam hadn't told Dean outright, he was scared they wouldn't make it out alive, let alone actually find the person they were meant to save.

Moving in behind the glass doors of the steaming, hot shower, Sam tried to relax underneath the water. Sighing, he let the clear liquid spray out over his now, taut skin. His nipples had peaked as the cool air of the room mixed with the raising heat from the hot box he was creating.

Grabbing the tiny motel soap, Sam lathered it up in his hands, rubbing his palms quickly over his body. The friction against his self, brought blood to the surface in more places than one. Intent on gripping his newly produced formation, he was half way to doing so when Dean burst into the bathroom loudly.

"Dude, are you done yet?" He asked as he lifted up the toilet seat and withdrew his own half-massed hardness.

"Dean, I'm in the shower." Sam complained, annoyed that he had been interrupted.

"Yeah, and I had to pee. What's your point?" He replied as he relieved his bladder into the bowl.

"I don't walk in on you when _you're_ in the bathroom."

"Well maybe you should." Dean teased as he dropped himself back onto the fabric of his boxer briefs and reached forward, pulling the handle down on the back of the toilet.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled as his brother left the room laughing and a rush of hot water hit the taller boys back. "I'll get you for that later, I swear." He called out after the door was closed again.

----------

"So," Dean said, stuffing another mini doughnut into his mouth as he steered them down the main road of town. "When we find this person, how are we going to rope them in this time?" Taking a sip of his coffee, he glanced over at Sam. " I have to say; my favorite so far has to be when we faked preachers to that telekinetic Miller, kid." He chuckled and trailed off, shaking his head. "Gene and Ace …"

"You do remember he died right?" Sam questioned, wondering how Dean found that case funny.

"Yeah, I also remember that he almost shot me in the head. So it's kinds hard for me to feel sorry for him." The man did seem to have a valid point.

Sam had already contacted half of the call list he had gathered from the night before, and each had ended without a lead or further result.

"Are you _sure_ this person is around our age?" Dean inquired. "I mean, it could mean anything." He told Sam, in reference to the images his brother had explained to Dean about college materials. "Maybe a professor or something."

"Well, so far we've had a firefighter, deceased seventy year-old man, a hospital technician and a preschool teacher. None of that screams college textbooks and essays to me." He said, looking down his list again. "Besides, if they held those positions they would have already graduated."

Dean had to admit, Sam was right. For once.

"Well did you happen to see what the books were for? I mean they had to have names right?"

"You mean titles? Yeah, I'm sure they did, but they were open before a typed paper and some notes, so I couldn't see anything helpful." He sighed.

"Well, did you see anything else?" Dean asked, curious. "Like anything else that might have been on the table?"

"Um, not really. There was a video iPod, a can of Coca Cola and a binder with a logo I couldn't quite make out."

"Yeah, that's helpful." Dean said sarcastically, rolling his eyes at the situation. "Really, this should be getting easier every time we do this. Not harder."

"Yeah for once I have to agree with you." Sam concurred.

It brought an amused smile to Dean's face to hear those words spill from his brother's lips.

"What?" Sam asked, giving his brother a curious look.

"I knew you'd have to give in to the dark side sooner or later." Dean teased.

It seemed like the boys might actually be breaking the ice with one another. Not to mention that Bobby was starting to wonder if they wouldn't just kill each other on a hunt and make it look like an accident.

----------

Pulling up in front of an old Victorian house, Dean shut the engine off and looked over at Sam.

"OK, so there's only one more after this, right?" He asked as they both glanced out the passenger side, up into the massive bay window before them and the car.

"Yeah." Sam responded, sticking his head out.

It had taken them over and hour to get here after sitting with two prior candidates. One, an elderly grandmother that talked far too long, and the other, a taxi cab driver that didn't seem to know which way was up. Neither fitting the description for the person they were looking for. So now they were down to the last two options and running out of time. Fast.

"So how _are_ we going to handle this one?" He questioned Dean. They had never fully decided on a course of action or a good reason on how they were going to get into this house. Not to mention that they had no uniforms handy or had they seen any rental places so far along the way.

"We improvise." Dean stated, opening the driver's door and stepping out.

"And how do you presume we do that?" Sam just had to ask.

"The old standard." Dean said, opening the Impala's hood and stripping off his button down shirt to reveal a tight, white tank top and muscular arms.

Sam couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"And you _really_ think that's going to work?" He let slip in a sarcastic manner, as he stepped up besides his brother.

"Are you having car trouble?" A short brunette asked just at that moment, as she headed for the door to the old Victorian before them.

"Works every time." Dean whispered to Sam, an impish grin spreading across his face. Closing the heavy, metal cover over the engine, he peaked up to get a look at the slender and petite woman that stood on the steps of the house. "Yeah, it just keeps dying." He told her, lying and pretending to wipe his hands off on the shirt he still held.

"Well, your welcome to use my house phone to call a tow truck if you need." She told them, pulling a corded earplug from her ear.

Sam looked her up and down, only then realizing that she held a can of Coke in one hand and a video MP3 player was tucked into the hip of her small, tight cotton athletic shorts. He nudged Dean, eyeing the logo and was embossed over one thigh of her curve hugging attire. Only Dean wasn't paying attention to the graphics on her clothing. More so the large breasts she held up across her top half.

"Dean." Sam whispered loudly as their next seeming hunt walked up the rest of the stairs to unlock the door. "Dean!" He said more forcefully.

"Huh?" The shorter brunette asked, breaking his concentration, a small smile still playing out over his lips. "Did you see her breas–" He started to ask, but was cutoff by the other boy.

"Hey, must I remind you we're not here to pick up girls?" Sam asked, his annoyance rising.

"Well maybe not you, but if I'm going to die tonight I might as well get me some." Dean laughed, patting Sam on the shoulder twice as he moved up the wooden steps of the waiting house.

"Sometimes I hate you." Sam told Dean as they made their way through the entrance of the 1888 structure.

"But I'm so lovable." Dean teased in a child-like voice, as he rounded the short hallway and stepped into the main of the living room.

Next to them stood a small desk against the stairwell that led to the upper level. On it's surface were the woman's iPod, a half a can of Coca Cola and a small army of textbooks that sat before I hand written set of notes.

"It's her." Sam said quietly as they stood there staring down at the objects.

"How do we know someone else doesn't live here?" Dean asked. "I mean it could be a house full of sorority girls." He paused at his own statement. "Dude, that would so rock." He chuckled, smiling widely. "And then maybe we could get you laid so you wouldn't be so up tight anymore." He trailed off, amused.

"Very funny." Sam interjected.

"I thought so." Dean shrugged, moving further into the living room and taking a seat.

"So, here's the phone." The mysterious woman broke in as she walked into the main room herself from the kitchen, setting a plate of cookies down onto the coffee table before Dean.

Handing the phone over to the eldest Winchester, she sat on the couch opposite Dean and kept an eye on Sam as he looked over her class notes.

"Do you mind if I take this outside?" Dean asked, standing up with the phone in hand. He was obviously going elsewhere to fake the tow call.

"No, not at all." She answered and watched him leave. "So, are you interested in Web Design?" She turned, asking Sam.

"Huh?" He came too, looking back at her and then realized that the materials he had been going through this whole time where computer textbooks and 'The Inner Workings of HTML clarifications.' "Oh, no. I was studying Law." He told her moving to sit down across from her.

"Wow, that's impressive." She offered, revealing a surprised look. "Was? So you're not anymore?"

"No, my brother and I decided it was a good time for a road trip and some family bonding time." He told her giving up a small white lie. After all, she didn't need to know everything.

"You two must be close then?"

"Oh yeah. That Dean, he's the best." He told her trying desperately to not let her see how that statement make his facial features distort, as he scratched at the back of his head nervously.

"Where were you attending?" She asked, not picking up on the change of mood in the room.

"Stanford." Sam answered.

"Even more impressive." She joked. "And where are you traveling from?"

"We're originally from Kansas."

"Oh, my mother was born there." She told the shaggy haired boy.

"OK, this feels weird." He broke in. "My name's Sam, Sam Winchester." He stated, holding out his hand to her.

"Jordan Harris." She laughed, doing the same as they took each others hand politely.

"You're kidding me?" Dean bitched into the receiver as he made his way back into the main of the house. "Forty-five minutes for a tow truck? Who the hell takes that long?" He pretended to listen at the point when someone on the other end would of responded to his questions. "Yeah whatever, I'll wait." And with that he pressed the off button, silencing the constant buzzing of the dial tone in his ear.

----------

Sam took the bottle Jordan handed to him. Forty minutes had already passed and if they didn't think of something soon he was pretty sure she would start asking questions, and that's what he was afraid of. Whether or not he was trying to find a way to bring up the topic of them being here, it always made him uneasy when he had to explain to others what Dean and he did on a daily basis.

"Is your brother OK?" Jordan asked Sam with a look of concern as Dean left for the bathroom for the third time in less an hour.

"I don't know, he probably caught some disease from one of the millions of hookers he's slept with." Sam said shrugging it off. He was beginning to sound like Dean himself.

Jordan cocked an eyebrow in response.

"OK then." Was all she could muster as a comeback to what she had just heard. A look of slight embarrassment washed over her face as Dean took his place next to Sam on the couch again. "So …" She trailed off. "Where is this tow truck anyway?" She asked the room as she glanced out the bay window that over looked the street.


	5. Somebody Else's Song

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Jordan told the boys as she rolled her eyes away from them, staring off in the opposite direction.

She was starting to wonder why she had even let the two into her home. Oh right, they were good looking. Never mind the fact that they could have been killers!

"You want me to go with you where, and to do what?" She had to ask again since it all sounded so stupid the first time. Though, the second time was no different.

Driving around the country chasing demons, only to salt and burn them? They must have escaped from a mental ward she reasoned with herself. And here she was letting them in without a care in the world. Way to go Jordan.

"Listen, my brother's not so good at explaining things to people," Sam told her giving a side-glance to Dean as he said his name. "Especially things of this nature. You'd think he'd catch on by now, but no." He said slightly under his breath while still staring over at the shorthaired brunette next to him.

"Wait, you're trying to tell me there is a better way to tell someone you fight demons, and out of that rust bucket out there?" She spat at Sam, pointing out the bay window to the car on the street.

"A '67 Impala is not a rust bucket," Dean interjected. "And I keep her in good condition." He told her with a cookie in hand.

"Her?" Jordan asked cocking an eyebrow over at the shorter, but in her opinion, better looking of the two. Even if he did seem dimwitted.

"OK," Sam said interrupting the two of them and holding a hand up in the air to each. "We don't have time for this. Listen, something is after you whether you like it or not. You don't have to believe me, but if you don't you'll be dead by nightfall. And frankly, I couldn't live with that on my conscious knowing it happened just because you are too bullheaded to believe me." Man she was starting to remind him of Dean. Oh wouldn't this be a fun car ride back to Bobby's?

"I still don't understand _how_ you know this, or why you really care." She voiced to Sam, softening her regard.

She couldn't help but drop her head into her hands at this point; they'd been at this for over an hour and it still made no more sense then it had when the boys had first entered. The clock overhead chimed four, only stating loudly that Jordan's window of opportunity was closing quickly in front of her, about to slam shut in more ways than one.

"I don't know how else to explain it too you, Jordan." Sam told her in a sigh. "We've been doing this since we were kids, we know when something's not right –" He started to clarify for her, but was interrupted by Dean.

"Yeah, and Sam has these vision thingies," He said squinting one eye more then the other giving Jordan an odd face as he pointed up at his own head to indicate where Sam's specialty came from. "That tells him when something ain't kosher." Dean finished, telling her point blank as he grabbed another cookie from the tray before them, shoving it into his mouth.

Sam gave Dean a sharp quick look and a poke in the side with his elbow. Subtlety was something Dean had never mastered, and probably never would come to understand.

"This just keeps getting better and better." Jordan added, sighing herself. "I think you two should leave." She told the brothers standing up before them. "I can't handle this right now, and besides, you're starting to give me a headache."

She placed her thumb and forefinger on opposite sides of her nose to get her point across. The pinching did little to relieve the pain, but the boys seemed to get the hint as they finally removed themselves from her living room and headed for the hallway … slowly.

"Jordan–" Sam started to protest at the front door as she urged them on.

"Sam, please." She placed one hand across her forehead and the other out in front in the tall, lengthy man. "Please just go." It was more begging than demanding now. She just wanted to be left alone. "You guys seem nice and all," She told Sam. "But you're just to weird for my taste and I'm not into this kind of _stuff_." She added, shaking her head as she scrunched up her face, making a final end to her statement.

Dean stood behind Sam with a handful of cookies, and an even bigger cheek full.

"Hey this stuff it real. I hate to have tell you this, but the things in the dark are real too." He somehow managed to spit out while still chewing.

With those last words, Jordan shut the front door in their faces.

"Dean, you have got to stop using that line with every hunt we come across." Sam complained as he turned to walk down to where the car was parked.

"It worked on that kid at the motel back in Wisconsin." He whined very so slightly.

"Can you seriously compare Wisconsin to California, and a thirteen year-old boy to a female college student?"

"Well I was _trying_ too, but you don't seem to want to let me. Mister 'Know-It-All.'"

"Seriously, how can we be related?" Sam asked himself out loud as he jerked his side of the car open and sighed deeply.

"It's easy. Dad totally went all 'Barry White' with Mom and poof-" He said gesturing the motion with his hands.

"Poof?"

"Poof," Dean continued. "You were born." He stated to Sam, as he slid in behind the steering wheel. "You know, for the longest time I begged them to tell you that you were adopted." He chuckled to himself, thinking back.

"Your such an asshole."

"And your Mary Poppins."

"What?" Sam asked confused as they pulled away from the curb.

----------

Jordan let the curtain fall back in place as she watched the two boys load them selves into the black, muscle car outside. As the Impala's engine roared to life she shook her head, stepping away from the window and turning to retreat into the darker corners of the house.

----------

It was many hours later as the Winchester boys sat outside the dated structure of the old Victorian house that Jordan Harris now occupied. As the car stereo clicked over to signal ten o'clock Dean looked up into the lit bedroom window once again.

"We don't even know what we're up against." He complained. "That doesn't happen very often, and to be honest," He confessed. "It makes me a little uneasy."

Sam flipped John's journal open as he listened to Dean rattle on. His words made Sam feel even guiltier that he had not been able to pull anything else useful from his nightmare. They were lucky he was clever enough to piece together the items that had brought them to where they were now. Anyone else and Jordan would be dead one way or another.

"Sam, are you listening to me?" Dean asked, snapping his fingering in front of his younger brother's face.

"Yes, and I really wish you would stop doing that." Sam voiced, waving Dean's hand away. "Look at this." Sam told the older boy as he pointed down at one of the many ratty sheets of paper in their father's collection. "Is it just me, or does this picture look an awful lot that that house?" He asked as they both stared down into the photograph and than up at the looming structure through Dean's side window.

As Dean stayed transfixed on Jordan's window yet again, Sam read the caption out loud that was scribbled under the image.

"In 1895, seven years after the construction was finished on the house, an all girls school was opened up inside its doors."

"See Dude, I told you. House full of girls." Dean teased grinning from ear to ear.

Sam ignored him and read on.

"Only six months into the new year and tragedy befell the small group of five girls that now lived within its rooms when a fire raged throughout the lower half of the building."

"Oh, well that's just beautiful. So you're telling me we're dealing with five spirits and not just one stupid demon?" He chuckled uneasily. "God! Sometimes I hate this job." He bitched, shaking the steering wheel in anger.

Sam glanced over at him raising an eyebrow before asking his next question.

"So let me guess, the thought of possibly dying tonight is finally getting to you?"

"Dude, I don't want to die at the hand of some dead, pre-pubescent eleven year-old girl."

"Why are you afraid your tombstone will read, 'Here lies Dean Winchester, we're sorry he couldn't run fast enough?'"

"Ha ha …" He replied highly annoyed now.

"Anyway … No, it says all but one girl was able to escape." He told Dean scanning down the page again. "Claire Davis. A twelve year-old orphan transferred from San Francisco three weeks before her death."

"Why do I have a feeling it wasn't the fire that killed her?" Dean asked as he continued listening.

"It says here that she confided in the Head Mistress several times in her short stay that the other girls were bullying her."

"So they killed her?"

"They never found any evidence pining Claire's death on anyone or anything other then the fire." Sam read off the last bit of information.

"OK, well one spirit I can deal with." Dean told Sam glancing up at the house as he caught sight of the last light being extinguished. "I think that's our cue." He gestured to Sam as he opened his side of the car and stepped out.

Sam followed suit as his brother moved around to the back of the Impala and slipped the key into the lock of the trunk. Lifting it open Dean grabbed the nearest shotgun and shoved it up underneath the lid to keep it fully elevated. It helped, since he was tired of it slamming shut on his head.

Withdrawing the rock salt gun and handing Sam the gasoline can full of the same material, Dean rummaged through the other items before pocketing one or two smaller objects and slamming the trunk shut.

"Now we wait quietly outside." Dean told Sam.

"And just what were we doing before?"

"Waiting bored inside the car." Dean stated as they moved around to the backside of the house and out of sight.

"They really broke the mold when they made you, you know that right?" Sam asked him.

"That's cause I'm special." The eldest boy voiced as he took in their surroundings.

"You're special all right." Sam replied sarcastically.

Now all they could do was wait.


	6. In Search Of Something More

"I'm freezing my ass off out here." Dean complained as they sat on the back steps of Jordan's house. It had been over an hour and nothing had happened as of yet.

"What time is it?" Sam questioned his brother again while breathing hot air into his hands, as he cupped them over his mouth.

"11:15." Dean answered as he withdrew his cell phone from his pocket, and sliding his finger over the side button, pushed it down to turn the light on.

Sam sighed deeply, obviously indicating to Dean and the crisp night air that he was tired of waiting. The temperature had dropped a good ten degrees and his thin button-up shirt just wasn't cutting it anymore. He was starting to feel sorry for himself that he had left his heavy Carhartt jacket in the backseat of the Impala.

"Hey Sammy?" Dean asked as two of them sat there huddled in their own skins, their arms now wrapped around their knees as they shivered in a very feeble attempt to keep warm.

"Yeah?" He answered with chattering teeth.

"I'm sorry for how I've been acting toward you lately.

"What do you mean?" Now curious, he had to ask. Dean wasn't one to apologize and when he did, it made Sam uneasy.

"You know, I've been riding you, teasing you, saying anything to piss you off." Dean replied nonchalantly, circling a hand in the air as he rattled each one off.

"You do that all the time." Sam told him, laughing with a look of confusion. Why was he apologizing for it all now?

"Yeah, but I've been going out of my way lately." Dean quietly confessed. Now that they had all this extra time on their hands, he might as well come clean.

"Why?" He questioned as he tilted his head to listen better, the wind howling loudly about them now.

"Because it felt, normal." Dean answered honestly.

"I don't understand."

"Ever since Dad died," He paused. "I don't know. Something's been, off."

"That's normal, Dean." Sam told him, turning to face his brother more.

"Yeah, but I don't what it to be normal, Sammy. We've never been _normal_, why start now?" Dean asked him, trying to not let the small tears that were building up fall away, his tension slowly mounting.

"I still don't understand what it has to do with you pushing my buttons all the time." Even after he said it he wished he could take it back. He didn't feel like getting into an odd "Winchester" moment while they sat in the darkened backyard of their latest hunt. It just wasn't a good time, or place.

"It's the only think that feels-" He paused at this point, not wanting to tell Sam how he was really feeling, but also searching for the word that really emphasized his true emotion. "Right." He let slip, wiping at his cheek with the back of his hand as the first stray tear fell.

The older boy might not want to admit it, but as the minutes ticked by he became more and more scared. Scared for his life, for Sam's and maybe even for that bitch of a girl upstairs.

"I don't know if I'm ready for this one."

"What, you're kidding right?" Sam asked surprised.

"I don't want to die tonight, Sammy"

"You're not going anywhere, Dean." Sam told him outright. "I don't care what I saw in my vision, I'm not going to let it happen." He stated, leaning back as he continued. "And besides, when has that ever stopped you from completing a hunt, especially when it involves saving a pretty girl?"

"She's a bitch." Dean answered.

"Wow, and when has _that_ ever stopped you? I thought you liked all kinds?" He chuckled slightly amused, as he smiled at Dean and tried to compose himself.

"I do, but she just-" He started in.

"Pushes your buttons?" Sam asked, laughing.

"Yeah."

"Oh my God, you like her." Sam grinned from ear to ear. "Like _really_ like her."

"Maybe." Dean answered quietly.

"Why am I not surprised?" Sam asked himself as he shook his head, still smiling. Though, secretly, he was a little jealous at the thought.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean questioned, now getting irritated.

"Dean, you seem to find a girl in every town we stop in and on most hunts we come across."

"So?"

"Why is this one any different then the rest of-" Sam started to inquire of his brother, but was interrupted by a loud shriek that came from upstairs.

The boys were up and on their feet in no time flat.

Kicking the back door in and off its hinges, Dean entered first as Sam turned on a flashlight to help illuminate their way. Creeping through the kitchen they glanced around quietly, but nothing seemed out of place.

"I really wish we could have researched this more." Sam complained in a whisper walking slightly hunched down behind his brother as they quickly, but quietly, double-checked everything before moving on.

"Yeah, well we kinda don't have the time for that right now." Dean told him as they stepped into the hallway and crept slowly up the stairs that led to the second floor.

Only halfway to the landing and another piercing scream filled their ears.

"Somebody help me!" Jordan cried out loudly, screaming twice after. "Get away from me! No! STOP!"

That was all it took. The boys were on the landing and running in the direction of Jordan's fearful cries.

Entering through the partially open door at the end of the hall, the boys burst in to find the slender brunette slumped in the corner of her bedroom, and the form of a young girl in a very tattered and blood stained dress, standing before her.

"You'll get what you give." The blonde haired spirit told them, turning to face the brothers and reveling in her hand a long, bloody, carving knife. Only then could they see Jordan clearly.

"Dean." Sam blurted out as he caught slight of the sticky red substance that was pooling next to the body of the Harris girl.

"I'm on it." Dean said as he looked through the eye of the rock salt gun and fired at Claire twice. She disappeared into the darkness.

"You'll get what you give." She repeated, appearing behind them in the doorway to the room.

"Oh hell no, you aren't getting away _that_ easily." Dean told her as she disappeared again and he ran from the room and down the stairs to lure her out into the open. "And what the fuck is that kind of cryptic shit?" He yelled as he took the stairs two at a time.

"Jordan? Jordan can you hear me?" Sam asked frantically as he moved quickly to lay her out on the floor after watching the other boy chase after the young spirit. "Jordan, come on. You can't do this." He told her, moving her head and realizing she was basically lifeless. "Jordan." He quietly begged again, his lower lip beginning to quiver.

He ran his fingers out over her body to look for any wounds or gashes. It was obvious Claire had done some harm to her before they had arrived, but it was hard to see in the dark with just a lone flashlight and one free hand.

Sam gave a quick intake of air as he felt a sticky wetness spread out over her belly. Shining the scope of light over her once again, he was horrified to see that Claire had used the knife to rip open the other girl's abdomen. It wasn't deep enough to open the stomach contents, but that in no way meant Jordan wasn't bleeding out, and all over her own floor to boot.

"Oh, God." Sam whimpered, turning to look around the room for something to press against her injury. "DEAN!" He yelled as loudly as he could. Just looking at her like this, made him think of Jessica, and he wasn't about to let Jordan go if there was any chance of saving her.

----------

"Come out, come out where you are." Dean sang in a teasing manner, hoping to lure Claire out from wherever she was hiding. So far it wasn't working.

He now had all the lights on for the bottom floor of the house, but had made sure to keep the curtains drawn tightly. After all, they had enough problems to contend with. Who needed to add curious and noisy neighbors to the list? Like they needed another run in with the cops.

"Claire," Dean called out, rounding the corner into the kitchen as a knife flew past his head. "Holy shit!" He yelled stepping back, flattening his body against the wall behind him. "Why you little, bitch." He fumed cocking the shotgun and filling up the doorway with his muscular frame. "I hope you like the taste of rock salt and sulfur." He told her as he let a round off before she disappeared into thin air again.

Unfortunately he missed her completely, but the same could not be said for the short 5'1", twelve year-old girl, as she stepped up next to Dean once again with the knife in hand and drug it hard across his chest, from his right shoulder down to his bellybutton.

He screamed loudly as the sharp blade dug into the softness of his tender skin.

"You'll get what you give." The young blonde told him as she tried to lunge at his body with the blade once more.

Luckily for him, he was able to elbow her harshly in the face, knocking her off balance. Anyone else and it would of broke their nose, but considering she was dead, there wasn't much damage.

----------

Upon hearing Dean's loud, and obviously painful bellow, Sam looked up from pressing Jordan's blood soaked robe against her wound and couldn't help the urge that raced through his body to check on his older brother.

Looking back from Jordan to the door, unsure of what to do, Sam's confusion was broken as he listened to Dean awkwardly pulling himself up the stairs, huffing and clutching his stomach as he went.

"That brat is going to be harder to catch then I thought," He confessed as he walked into the room hunched over and dropped down next to Jordan's body, across from Sam. "How is she?" he finally thought to ask as he came to the consciousness that this was not going to be a standard grab and kill.

"I don't think she's going to make it, Dean." He admitted as he lifted up the blood soaked terry cloth to give his brother a better view.

It wasn't until then that Dean saw that Sam had been crying, the flashlight reflecting off his glistening tears as they slid slowly from his cheeks.

"Sammy?"

"I'm fine," He lied, using the back of his hand to wipe them away, but leaving a streak of Jordan's blood transfer in the process. "But she's not, Dean. We have to get her to a hospital." He tried to say without whimpering.

"And just what are we going to tell them?" Dean questioned, but this time in a more, brotherly, manner.

"I don't know, anything!" He yelled slightly as he began to loose it and his tears fell faster. "Tell them we came home to find her like this, that we're her cousins from out of town, that the back door was open when we came in and by the time we found her she was already like this." He rattled off.

Dean had to admit, Sam was still a quick thinker, even in the worth of times.

"Sam, they're going to want to call the police." Dean reasoned. It's not that he wanted to let her die, but spending a lifetime in prison labeled a killer didn't sound great either.

"Dean-" Sam started to beg, but was cut off by Jordan's deep intake of air as she thankfully came too. It should have been a good sign, but it wasn't.

With Jordan trying to move about and becoming hysterical at the realization of what was happening, she only started her heart pumping faster and that only meant her injury began to spill more blood.

"Jordan," Dean addressed her as he used his weight to hold her down, pushing her back flat out across the floorboards again. "You have to stay still." He actually used his eyes at this point to plead with her. He knew if he started loosing it as Sam was, then they'd all be dead without question.

"She's going to kill me." She blurted out, frantically trying to catch her breath as the room spun in circles, no thanks to the massive loss of blood.

Sam was crying non stop now, not something he would of normally done, but he was to the point that he felt his world was crashing down around him and he could hold it in no longer.

Dean on the other hand, was doing all he could to keep himself in check. He was feeling all of the same things his brother was, bleeding from him own wound and hoping to God, none of them died here tonight, but the only way he got through the hard times that were thrust upon them, was to push past it. Until a momentary laps came along when he could quietly let himself break, and then collect the pieces again.

----------

They tried to bandage Jordan up as best they could. With the amount of blood she had spilt they were afraid that even if they could get her to a doctor, it would still be too late.

"Dean?" Sam spoke up to his brother as he finished wrapping the bandages around Jordan's stomach from her stationary position on the floor.

"I'm OK," He stated, wiping the last of his own blood off his now naked upper torso, as he stood over the two at his feet. He was lucky enough that he was a good foot or so taller then Claire. This made her control with the knife not as deadly as it could end up being for the again, motionless brunette Sam was nervously checking over and over.

"Are we ready?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, pulling his own button front shirt back on as he grasped a bloody, white t-shirt in hand and picked his shotgun back up with the other. "You know she's not going to let us out that easily." He told his brother, speaking of Claire. She wanted something as compensation for what she had been put through, and she was willing to take it form anyone at this point.

Lifting Jordan's dead weight in his arms now, Sam stood behind Dean as they both readied them selves for the task ahead. Dean positioned the gun to his shoulder, kicked the door open and stepped out to face their latest nemesis.


End file.
